


The Meaning of Family

by RandomThingsInLife



Series: This Our Family [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (s), Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Sheriff Stilinski just can't with these idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomThingsInLife/pseuds/RandomThingsInLife
Summary: The inevitable happens, and everyone must learn how to deal with each other. Complete with murders, crime scenes, demons, proposals, unnecessary amounts of cooking, and everyone finally figuring out what Family actually means.





	1. Mummy Holmes has a Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is the final installment of my "This Our Family" series. Thanks so much for sticking it out with me. Not really a stand alone, as it builds on the previous stories, but you probably could do it. I would recommend at least checking out "Normal is Relative" as a good summary of what you need to know for this one.  
> You guys are great, thanks.

"Of course we’ll be there, Mummy. We wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ve got to run now, talk later. Bye,” Lyssa said, already running through plans in her mind. 

“Start packing kiddos. We’re headed to London for Gran’s birthday,” She said. 

Addie squealed and Josh grinned. They bolted out of the room to start packing. 

“What just happened, honey?” Chris asked, leaning into the room. 

“We’re going to Mummy’s birthday party. They’ve gone to pack. I’m calling Lizzie, then I’ll get the arrangements made.” She said. 

Chris gave her a soft smile. “Okay, hon, I’ll drag the suitcases down.” 

“Thanks,” she said, and he kissed her on the head as he moved through the room. 

*** 

Lizzie was half listening to her mother as she organized her notes for her Chem final. 

“Yes, mom,” Lizzie said. 

“Are you actually listening to me, Liz?” Lyssa asked. 

“Yes, mom,” Lizzie said, rolling her eyes. 

“What did I say?” Lyssa said. Her tone made Lizzie freeze. 

“That Gran’s birthday is right after finals and we are going. That the four of you are travelling together. That you’ll meet me at the airport when I land. That you’re worried about some activity going on around the terrorist cell you are monitoring. That you are all travelling under aliases and I should too.” Lizzie repeated. 

“Good,” Lyssa said. “Sorry, it just has me a little on edge.” 

“I get it, mom,” Lizzie said. “You’re trying to make sure we are all safe. I’ll see you in a week.” 

“See you next week. Love you,” Lyssa said. 

“Love you too, mom,” Lizzie replied. 

Lizzie hung up the phone and turned back to her notes, it was finals week and she needed to focus. She quickly bought a plane ticket and returned to her studies. At least she would have a good break after this. 

*** 

Lizzie hated planes. It wasn’t that she hated flying, quite the opposite in fact, she loved that part. It was the people. She was too used to getting where she needed to go on private flights and in cars. It was a full plane; teeming with squirming people, crammed in like sardines. But it was necessary. They were going on the sly. She was a broke college kid going home. She couldn’t discreetly book a first class ticket or take a highly classified flight across the Atlantic. So here she was, packed into economy class with hundreds of other people, leaning away from the middle-aged man next to her and trying to avoid eye contact with the guy on her other side. She should have checked her seat better. She definitely would have paid more for a seat by the window. 

She pulled a book from her backpack. It was old and worn, leather bound and hand written. She had borrowed it from Sam before she had left. An interesting read, it discussed the migration patterns of creatures throughout history. She had another in her bag that discussed the involvement of creatures in wars. She was really looking forward to it. Just as she was getting to the movement of a large pack of ghouls from somewhere near Turkey to Spain, the guy next to her bumped into her shoulder. 

“Whatcha reading? Your diary?” he asked teasingly. 

“The migration of the Ghoul mythos.” She replied shortly. 

“The what?” the guy asked. 

“The migration of the Ghoul mythos. You know, the stories about Ghouls and how those stories moved from where they originated into other parts of the world.” She explained, and grinned at him, a grin she knew was all teeth; she had learned it from Laura. He smiled tightly. He wasn’t afraid of her, or he was, and just wasn’t going to let himself show it. Great. 

“Wait, so you’re reading about the history of stories?” they guy asked. 

“Monster stories.” She said. 

“Dude, isn’t that boring?” 

“Nope” She said, turning back to her book. 

“I’m Zach.” The guy said, trying to catch her attention. 

“Elsie,” she said, tone flat. 

“And what brings you to England, Elsie?” He asked 

“Visiting Family.” She replied. “My grandmother’s birthday is in a few days.” 

“What brought you to America?” 

“Uni. I go to NYU.” She replied. 

“Oh cool,” Josh said, “I go to Columbia. What year are you?” 

“I start Grad work in the fall.” She gave him a tight smile. 

“Oh,” he said. 

“Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to my book now,” She said. She should have thought to put headphones in at the beginning. 

“Right,” he said, and, thankfully, left her alone. 

*** 

“Josh, come on! We’re meeting Lizzie at the airport,” Lyssa called into the hotel. 

“Coming!” He yelled, clattering into the room. 

Downstairs, they piled into a cab. The cabbie nodded and hung up his phone. 

“Where to?” He asked, with a grin. 

*** 

A boom shook the windows on the buildings. People on the sidewalk were screaming. Police were running towards the scene, calling for backup. Backup and ambulances showed up, followed closely by news reporters. 

*** 

Lizzie called her mother. No answer. She called her father, her brother, her sister: nothing. She sighed. They said they would be there. 

Looking around she tried to find a place to sit and wait, maybe they were just running behind. A TV caught her eye. The news, an image of a blanket covered body, arm hanging off the gurney, a flash of silver, a familiar bracelet. She froze. She knew that bracelet. She had gotten it for Addie for her birthday. 

She shakily pulled her phone back out. She had to get out of here. She dialed. 

“Myccy,” She said when he answered, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Elizabeth,” He said, relief coloring his tone. “Where are you?” 

“The airport-” She started. 

“Stay there, I’m on the way to you,” He said. 

“Ok,” she whispered and went to find a seat. 

*** 

Q’s phone was ringing incessantly. He couldn’t deal with that right now. 005 was in a tight spot and he couldn’t afford the distraction of changing control over right now. 

Eve entered the room, a girl with her face buried in her phone trailing after her. Q sighed. Mycroft, then. He finished walking 005 out of the building before disconnecting with a “well done, 005. We’ll see you shortly.” He turned to the women. 

“What brings you to my domain, Eve?” He asked. 

“When the government makes a request, you don’t ignore it.” Eve said with a smirk. 

“Anthea, how lovely to see you again. How is my brother?” Q asked. 

“In need of your services.” She said, not looking up from her phone. She fished a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him. “He says that it is a matter of utmost secrecy.” 

“I’ll look into it,” he said, taking the paper. 

She nodded and turned to leave. Eve rolled her eyes then showed her out. 

Q unfolded the paper and sucked in a sharp breath. “Campbells dead. Find out who did it,” It read. 

Q grabbed his phone. “Lizzie OK.” His texts read. 

Q’s jaw worked, he moved to his computer and started digging. They would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.


	2. The Unexpected

A young woman strode purposefully through the airport. She was both looking uninterruptedly at her phone and picking nimbly through the crowd. She spotted her target and sent a text to her boss. 

“Lizzie,” She said, stopping in front of where the other girl was sitting. 

“’Thea,” Lizzie said in relief. 

“You have all of your things?” She asked. 

“Yes,” Lizzie answered, standing. 

“Let’s go, then,” She said. 

“Did he come with you?” Lizzie asked as they walked. 

“He wanted to. Thy have new details about the… accident.” She said. 

Lizzie nodded. “Where are we headed?” She asked as they got into the car. 

“His place. Apparently you will be staying there for a bit.” Anthea replied, glancing up at Lizzie. 

“Ok.” Lizzie said, breathing deeply and trying to center herself. 

Anthea was worried about her. She truly liked Lizzie, and this was an absolutely terrible situation. Mycroft handled terrible easily, but only when it didn’t touch him. She had no idea how well he would handle personal tragedy. Even the previous personal tragedy wasn’t truly a tragedy, but rather a cover-up. She sighed quietly; she would stay out of it. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” She said. 

Lizzie laughed mirthlessly. “Thanks,” she said, tone flat. “I don’t think it’s sunk in all the way yet.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Anthea reassured. 

“Always am,” Lizzie replied, turning to look out the window. 

As the car pulled away from Mycroft’s house, Anthea felt like they were missing something. She had done exactly as Mycroft had instructed, but she felt like they had overlooked something. She shrugged. Whatever it was, they would handle it. She looked back at her phone. 

*** 

Lizzie took her things to her room and changed into something clean. She was hungry but she wasn’t sure she wanted to eat. She sat on the bed and stared out the window. There was so much they would need to take care of. She would have to call Dean and Sam. And uncle Stilinski. Her stomach churned. Food, she decided, and went down to the kitchen to hunt for something to eat. 

*** 

Greg made his way down the stairs heavily. He had worked late into the night and gotten home around six in the morning. Myc had been leaving when he got home. He had gone up and collapsed into bed. 

Still half asleep he was almost to the kitchen before he realized that there was someone in there. He froze, adrenaline waking him up suddenly. Mycroft was already gone to work and there shouldn’t be anyone at the house. Something clattered into the sink and the person started humming. 

He glanced around himself quickly to see if there was anything he could use for a weapon. Nothing, at least he had some hand-to-hand experience. He rounded the corner quickly and made for the kitchen door. 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” He demanded loudly as he burst into the room. It was a young woman. She jumped and screamed. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Who are you?” She yelled back. 

“I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade. Who are you?” He said, tense. 

“Oh, you’re Greg.” She said, relaxing some. 

“Who are you?” He asked. 

“Myccy didn’t tell you?” She asked, confusion plain on her face. “I’m Elizabeth, his niece.” 

Greg wasn’t sure he heard that correctly. “Niece?” He asked. 

“Yes? Are you okay?” She asked. 

“Yeah, fine. I think. You’re Sherlock’s kid?” He asked. 

“Wha- No! Oh God, no. That would be insane. I’m 23, that’s impossible. I think. Math-wise?” She said. 

“Myc has more siblings?” Greg asked. “Oh God, Myc has more siblings.” 

Elizabeth laughed. “ They’re not like Myccy.” She said, reassuringly. 

“Mum’s- uh, well, mum was pretty normal.” She said, drawing in on herself slightly. 

“What’s happened?” He asked, he knew what tragedy looked like on survivors. 

“Um, have you heard about the, uh, accident that happened earlier?” She asked. 

“I got home at six this morning and slept ‘til just a few minutes ago. No, what’s happened.” Greg said. 

“It’s kind of a long story.” She hedged. 

“We’ve got time.” He said, raising an eyebrow. 

She sighed and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. 

“Tell you what,” He said. “I’ll make some tea and a sandwich for myself, then we’ll talk. Ok?” 

She nodded. He made a quick sandwich while the water boiled and quickly prepped the tea. He looked at where she perched uncomfortably on the barstool at the counter and sighed. 

“Come on,” He said, handing her a mug of tea and grabbing his own food and drink. “We’re eating on the sofa.” 

“Now,” he said once they were settled. “Tell me everything.” 

She did, with a lot of false starts and doubling back to explain things he didn’t already know. 

At the end, Greg sat back with a heavy sigh. “That’s a lot to take in all at once,” He said, running a hand over his face. 

“You handled Sherlock coming back from the dead alright.” She said archly. 

“Not funny. So you were involved in that too?” He said. 

“Yes, though minimally. I’ve been out for a few years while I’ve been at Uni.” She explained. 

"Okay. What do you need to do now?” Greg asked. 

“I’m assuming that Myc will take care of the arrangements, but I need to call my uncle and my cousins.” She said. 

“Ok,” He said and started to leave and give her some privacy. 

“Uh, could you, could you stay?” She asked. 

“Sure, Elizabeth, whatever you need.” He said. 

“Ugh,” she made a face. “Call me Lizzie.” 

“Can do.” He said with a soft smile. 

*** 

It has been an odd morning. Tom had woken up with an odd feeling and it hadn’t gone away. It was nine in the morning and he was doing paperwork when his phone rang. 

“Lizzie?” he answered. 

“Hi uncle Stilinski,” She said quietly. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“I – I’m not sure how to say this,” she said. A voice said something in the background. “Yeah, thanks,” she murmured. There was a quiet shuffling sound. 

“Hi, this is Greg Lestrade. You’re Lizzie’s uncle?” A man’s voice said. 

“Yeah, Tom Stilinski. What’s going on?” He said. 

“There’s been an… accident.” Greg said, there was a beat then he continued. “An attack, actually. The Campbell family’s cab was blown up. Lizzie is ok but the rest of the family didn’t make it.” 

“What?” Tom said, not fully processing what Greg was saying. 

“I’m sorry. They were in the cab when it blew up. They didn’t make it.” He said. 

“My God. Was Lizzie there?” Tom asked. 

“She was at the airport. She saw it on the news after they didn’t answer their phones.” Greg said. 

“Jesus,” Tom said, running a hand over his face. “Ok, let me talk to her. And Greg, thanks.” 

“It’s my job.” Greg said. 

“Doesn’t make it any easier, I know that from experience.” Tom said. 

Greg let out a mirthless chuckle. “Here’s Lizzie.” 

“Uncle Stilinski,” she murmured. 

“Are you ok?” He asked. 

“As much as I can be for now. Greg helped. I’m staying with him and Myccy.” She said. 

“Ok, good. You don’t need to be alone right now. Let us know when the arrangements have been made. We’ll be there.” He told her. 

“You don’t have-” she started. 

“If you think for a second that we wouldn’t be there you’re crazy. Of course we’ll be there.” He said sternly. 

“Thanks,” she whispered. 

“I’ll tell the pack. Don’t tell the boys, let Greg.” He instructed. 

“I will.” She promised. 

“I’ll have Derek call you later.” He told her gently. If anyone knew what to say in this situation it was Derek. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice wobbly with unshed tears. 

“No problem. I love you, I’ll let you go.” He said. 

“Love you too. Thanks, bye.” She said. 

“Talk to you later,” he said and hung up. This was going to be difficult. 

*** 

Dean was pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee when his ringing phone interrupted the quiet of the morning. 

“It’s Lizzie,” Sam said, grabbing the phone and tossing it to Dean. 

He caught it and answered. “Hey, Liz, what’s up?” 

“Hello,” a man’s voice answered. “Is this Dean Winchester?” 

Dean tensed and his mind spun, trying to catalogue and understand everything that was happening. This was a man, British and probably older than he was. It wasn’t Crowley, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t Crowley’s influence at work. 

“Who is this?” Dean demanded. 

“This is Greg Lestrade. I’m calling on behalf of Elizabeth Campbell. Is this Dean Winchester?” The man said. 

“Yes, what’s going on? Is Lizzie ok?” Dean asked. 

“She’s fine. But there’s been an attack. The Campbells were in a cab and it was blown up. It’s being investigated, but she wanted to notify you.” Greg said. 

“You said Lizzie’s ok?” Dean asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Can I talk to her?” 

The sound of the phone being passed off. “Hey De,” Lizzie said softly. 

“Liz, are you ok? Really?” Dean asked, relieved to hear her. 

“Yeah, I mean, probably not but I’m physically fine.” She said. 

“Ok. So we were planning to move in about a week and a half but everything is ready for us to go. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Dean said. 

“De, you don’t have to.” She said. 

“Like hell we don’t, Liz. We’re coming. That’s it. We’ll see you soon. Now I’m gonna go let everyone know what’s happening. You’re safe?” 

“Yes. I’m staying with Myc and his boyfriend, Greg. Greg’s a police officer. I’m pretty safe.” She said. 

“Ok. Love you, see you soon.” He said. 

“Love you, bye.” She said hanging up. 

“Okay guys,” Dean said, turning to face the others. “Looks like we’re moving ahead of schedule. Sam, find the earliest flight we can reasonably get on. Gabe, call the landlady and make sure that we’re good to move in ahead of the original date. Cas, get the last of the things packed and I’ll run out and get them shipped.” 

“What happened?” Sam asked. 

“The Campbells were killed. All but Lizzie. And we’re going to help her get to the bottom of this.” Dean said fiercely.


	3. Revelations

At dinner, Tom told the pack what happened. 

“When are we leaving?” Stiles asked. 

Derek was staring straight ahead, frozen in shock. 

“They said it was an accident on the news,” Danny said, confusion in his voice. “I mean, I didn’t realize it was your family, but they said it was an accident. But you’re saying that it was an attack? That seems really sketchy.” 

“They’ve done it on purpose, haven’t they?” Lydia asked. “If Lizzie’s ok, then they’re acting like they think it was an accident to keep her safe right?” 

“She knows what’s going on and her uncles are working on it,” Tom reassured. 

“Then we’re going to help. She helped us when we needed it, so we have to return the favor.” Allison said. 

“Tom, let me know when we can leave. I’ll handle the hotel and flight arrangements. Who’s wanting to go?” Derek said. 

Everyone’s hand shot up in the air almost simultaneously. 

“You’re all going to have to clear it with your parents first.” Stiles said. 

“It’s a good thing it’s summer break.” Boyd said. 

Tom laughed. 

“I’m going to go call Lizzie,” Derek said, getting up from the table. 

“That must hit close to home,” Scott said quietly as they watched Derek leave. 

“If anyone will know what to say, it will be him,” Tom said with a sigh. Derek knew what it was like, and he knew Lizzie well enough. 

“Alright, everyone. You know what needs to be done. Let’s finish up here and get this show on the road.” Stiles said, setting the pack in motion. 

*** 

Lizzie sighed heavily as she trudged up the stairs to Sherlock’s flat. _He tells me to come stay, but he can’t even be here to see me when I get here. Dumb._ She dropped her bags on the floor and nearly collapsed onto the couch. The weekend with Mycroft had been exhausting. Greg was nice, and friendly, and helpful. But Mycroft had been an anxiety ridden mess. He wasn’t sure how to deal with her when she wasn’t a kid or on a job with him. He hadn’t really been great with them as kids either. But they loved him for his awkward, except when it wasn’t helpful. Like now. 

Greg had redirected Mycroft at every chance, but it wasn’t enough. Mycroft wasn’t sure what to say, a problem exacerbated by the fact that he had just lost his sister and most of her family. Lizzie was aware that she was an unpleasant reminder. She could barely bring herself to look in the mirror, knowing she would see her father’s nose and jaw, her mother’s, well, everything. It was times like this that looking so much alike wasn’t helpful. Mycroft had frozen when he first caught sight of her. “Lyssa?” he had asked. Lizzie had nearly dissolved into tears. Greg had winced and sent Mycroft looking for something. 

At least Sherlock would be better. It wasn’t often that that was the case. She laughed humorlessly and shook her head. 

“Um, hello?” John asked from across the room. “Are you looking for Sherlock?” 

She sat up. “Well, I know he’s not here, but I’m not really looking.” She replied. 

“Lizzie?” John asked. 

“Hi, John,” She said with a tired smile. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked. 

“Long story,” She said. 

“Lizzie what’s wrong? What do you need Sherlock’s help with?” John asked, coming to sit next to her. 

“Nothing he can do now,” She muttered. 

“What’s going on?” John demanded. 

“They, I mean, it’s, well, I don’t know how to say this,” She said dejectedly. 

“Lizzie, what happened?” John asked gently. 

“They’re gone,” She whispered. 

“Who’s gone? Where?” 

“No, not like that, it’s, they’ve…” 

“They’re dead,” Sherlock said as he walked into the room. 

“Who’s dead?” John asked. 

“Her parents, her siblings, they’re dead,” Sherlock said, his voice thick. Lizzie looked up at him, eyes filling with tears. 

“Wait, what?” John said. 

Sherlock nodded at Lizzie, and she was hugging him in an instant. 

“Uncle Sherlock, what are we supposed to do?” she whispered. 

“We’ll get through this, Liz,” Sherlock said. 

“Wait, Uncle?” John asked. 

“Lizzie will be staying with us for a while. I’m not sure how long. She’ll be using the room upstairs.” Sherlock said to John. 

“So that’s why you were cleaning. I should have known something was up. Wait, uncle, her family; that means, your siblings, your niece and nephew. Sherlock, why didn’t you tell me?” John said. 

“I was busy,” Sherlock replied. 

“Why didn’t you tell me there were more of you than just you and Mycroft? Why didn’t you tell me that you were related when I invited them to our wedding?” John said, a little hysterical. 

“Now is not the time, John,” Sherlock said, looking down at Lizzie, who he was still holding. 

“You don’t get to use that as an excuse. If you told me before now, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” John said, glaring. 

“It was on purpose,” Lizzie muttered. “We aren’t exactly safer when more people know about us.” 

“Lizzie, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? When did this happen?” John said. 

“A few days ago. It was in the news. The, um, car accident. It was my family, they were coming to pick me up from the airport. It wasn’t actually an accident.” Lizzie said. 

“Really?” Sherlock asked, intrigued. 

“Not the time, Sherlock,” John scolded. 

“Yes, really,” Lizzie said, pulling away from the hug. “They’re looking for us. At least they were, and really just for the rest of my family. I’m out. I’ve been out. I just fucking graduated from Uni. I’ve been out for years at this point. But this is dragging me back in.” 

“You can’t, Liz. Don’t do that to yourself.” Sherlock said. “You’re starting grad work in the fall.” 

“I’ll take a leave of absence, start the next semester. It worked out for Derek.” She said with a shrug. 

“You’ve thought this out.” Sherlock said, tucking her under his arm. 

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. 

“Oh, hello,” Mrs. Hudson said, entering the room. “What’s this?” 

“Apparently Sherlock has a much larger family than we thought.” John muttered. 

“Mrs. Hudson, this is my niece, Lizzie. She’s going to be staying with us for a bit.” Sherlock said, talking over John, his arm still around Lizzie’s shoulder. 

“It’s very nice to meet you Lizzie,” Mrs. Hudson said cheerfully. “What brings you here?” 

“To London or to Sherlock?” Lizzie asked with a wry smile. “My grandmother’s birthday, and my family’s death.” 

“Oh, my dear! How terrible. You just come with me,” Mrs. Hudson said, shuffling the girl out of Sherlock’s embrace, into her own, and down the stairs. 

“I’m sorry, John,” Sherlock said gently. “I didn’t keep them from you to hurt you. I wasn’t allowed to tell, on pain of death, or something. Spies are terrible about needing to keep a secret.” 

“Sherlock, I had met them. I knew them.” John said. 

“But you couldn’t know we were related. It, well, it was too dangerous. Especially since you met them after, you know. Now, it doesn’t really matter” Sherlock said. 

John sighed. “Don’t lie to me again, Sherlock, especially about something like this. I thought we’d been over this already.” 

“I won’t, John. I, um, I also have another brother.” Sherlock said. 

John threw his hands in the air. “Right, ok. I’m going out. I’ll be back later.” 

*** 

John slipped quietly out of the flat, so as not to disturb Lizzie and Mrs. Hudson. He was angry, but it was tempered by the situation at hand. 

He called James, he needed a drink and to vent. James was happy to meet him and promised to be to him soon. John stepped inside the pub and ordered a drink. 

“Getting a head start on that, huh?” James teased as he slid into the table across from John. He signaled the bartender who nodded and brought him a drink. 

John looked up at him. 

“Well, what’s he done this time?” James asked, taking in the frustrated look on John’s face. “I haven’t seen you this angry since Sherlock came back from the dead.” 

“I found out that he has more family. I’ve met them, I even invited them to our wedding, but he didn’t bother to tell me,” John said. “And do you know what else?” 

“They died,” James said solemnly. 

“How…” John said. “Oh shit, they’re Quint’s family too. Oh God. How is he?” 

“Pouring himself into his work. They’re trying to track what actually happened. We’re going to all end up working on this one.” James said, taking a long pull from his beer. 

“Jesus,” John breathed. “Wait, Sherlock and Quint are brothers.” He dropped his head to the table with a groan. 

“At least you got to find out like this.” James teased. “Sherlock and Mycroft kidnapped me the day after I took Q on our first date.” 

“Mycroft kidnapped me the day I moved in. He offered to pay me to spy on Sherlock.” John said. 

James laughed. “Lyssa was pretty normal, as normal as a spy can be, at the least. Q’s not so bad, he just sometimes forgets that he needs food and sleep. I’m not sure whether Sherlock or Mycroft is worse.” He said. 

“Neither am I,” John said. “Neither am I.”


	4. The Convergence

It only took two days for Derek to get everything arranged for flights and hotel rooms. Tom was impressed. He was even more impressed with the pack’s ability to convince their parents to let them all go off to London. But they had made it happen, and here they were, crowded into tiny airplane seats. Tom sighed and settled into his seat. It was a long day of travel ahead. He might as well get some sleep while he could. 

*** 

Dean was glaring at Charlie. “You’re not coming with us.” He said. 

“I so am. Look, Quint’s my best friend. And I know Lizzie,” Charlie replied. “She’s going to need support. I know all about their family, and sure, they’re smart and they’ll figure everything out, but I’m not going as a hacker. I’m going as a friend.” 

Dean sighed heavily. “You’ve already made plans haven’t you?” He asked. 

“Yep!” She said cheerfully. “Now let’s get going.” 

*** 

“Leave it alone Sally.” Greg said, not even looking up from the papers on his desk. 

“But sir, there’s a girl out there who’s family just died. And it’s looking like it wasn’t a car accident.” Sally said. 

“Your point?” He said. 

“She needs to know.” Sally said. 

“No, you want to show off that you figured something out. Do not try to make this about the girl. You and I both know it’s not about her. You want to be able to throw it in Sherlock’s face that you figured something out.” Greg said. “This is not the case to do it on. Trust me on this one, Sally.” 

*** 

Sally was determined to talk to the girl. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with Lestrade, but she knew he was wrong about this one. She looked up the number. Elizabeth Campbell. Her name was different than the family but she was listed as next of kin. Maybe she was a cousin. 

The phone rang. 

“Hello?” the girl picked up. 

“Hi, Miss Campbell? This is Sally Donovan. I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about the car crash.” Sally said. 

“Look,” the girl said, “I really don’t want to talk about the crash. Yes, my family is dead. Yes, it is horrible. No, I don’t understand how that could have happened. Yes, it is terrible. I just, I can’t have this conversation.” 

“Wait, Miss Campbell, I- I’m with the police.” Sally said, sensing that the girl was about to hang up. “Is there any way I can convince you to meet me for coffee in about 30 minutes?” 

Silence. A sigh. “Where?” The girl asked. 

*** 

Thirty minutes later, Sally sat in the coffee shop waiting for Elizabeth Campbell. Something about that name kept snagging in her mind. She knew that name somehow. She just couldn’t place it. She was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t see the young woman taking the seat opposite her. 

“Sally?” she asked. 

“You must be—” Sally began. 

“Liz. Call me Liz.” The girl, Liz, said. 

“Ok. Liz. Nice to meet you.” Sally said, not quite sure where to begin. The girl seemed familiar, like her name, in a way that Sally just couldn’t put her finger on. 

“Does Greg know you’re doing this?” Liz asked. 

Sally opened her mouth to reply. 

“Eris!” The barista called then and Liz got up to get the drink. 

“I thought you said your name was Liz?” Sally said when the other girl sat back down. 

Liz shrugged. “My family was just killed, I think me having an alias or two is an acceptable precaution.” She said. 

“Wait, you know about that?” Sally said incredulously. 

Liz laughed. “Of course. I know my family. I know what they do.” She said. 

Sally stared at her. 

“Oh, I get it. That’s why you called me. You wanted to tell me. Didn’t Greg tell you?” Liz said. 

“Tell me what?” Sally asked. 

“That I knew already,” Liz said. Her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it and frowned. “I have to go. Thanks for, whatever this was,” she said as she left. 

Sally stared after her. That was strange. 

*** 

As John approached the flat, he nearly ran into Lizzie where she was climbing out of a cab. 

“Sorry, John,” she said, reaching out to grab one of the bags that dangled from John’s hand precariously by one handle. 

He laughed and waved her off, taking the bag back from her. “My fault. I should pay better attention to where I’m going.” 

She smiled broadly. “Well, I’ll be seeing you later,” she said and walked to the door of the flat next door, knocking on the door and waiting. 

John looked at her in confusion. “What are you doing?” 

“I’ve been summoned,” she said as the door opened. 

An older woman, probably about Mrs. Hudson’s age but in worse health, answered the door. 

“Hi, Mrs. Turner, are they in?” Lizzie asked sweetly. 

“Hello, dear! Yes they are. Give it a few seconds and James will probably come barreling down the stairs.” Mrs. Turner said conspiratorially. 

Sure enough, a few seconds later, James came barreling down the stairs. The two women shared a glance and started giggling. 

“Did I interrupt something?” James asked, looking between the two, one eyebrow cocked in amusement. 

“James?” John asked; he couldn’t hold his curiosity back any longer. 

“John! How are you?” James asked with a grin. 

“Fine,” John said, in a bit of a daze. 

“Don’t think he realized you lived here,” Lizzie muttered. 

“Oh! Oops. John, I live next door to you,” James said, his grin widening. 

John rolled his eyes. “I gathered that. Have you been there the whole time I’ve been living next door?” 

“Nah, but when Mrs. Turner’s previous “married ones” moved out and she was so eager to find new ones, it just so happened that Quint and I were looking for a place. I think it was while Sherlock was… gone.” James said. 

John nodded slowly.“Right, ok. Did Sherlock know?” John asked. 

“I don’t think he knows. Quint likes to torment him with it,” James said. 

“Huh, ok. Well, your secret’s safe with me.” John said. 

“Then you better go inside before he comes out to figure out why you haven’t come in even though he saw you walking down the sidewalk.” Lizzie said. 

John laughed. “What are the two of you up to?” 

“Research, maybe, could be planning. I’m not exactly sure. Quint just said he needed me to come over.” Lizzie said. 

John nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.” He said, going into his flat. 

“Will do,” James said, nodding and pulling Lizzie inside. 

"He took that well," Lizzie said, kicking the door shut behind them. 

*** 

Mrs. Hudson bustled in with tea. “The new tenants are moving in downstairs sometime today,” she said. “Behave yourself.” She shot Sherlock a meaningful glare. 

“I’ll make sure he does,” John laughed from over the newspaper. 

“I won’t have him scaring off the first people I’ve managed to get into that flat in years,” She said loudly, still glaring pointedly at where Sherlock sat, ignoring her. 

“Of course not, Mrs. Hudson. We’ll behave,” John smiled. 

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, making her way back out of the flat. 

*** 

It was late; there was banging coming from downstairs, voices, muffled curses. John sat straight up in bed. 

“The new tenants, John,” Sherlock murmured, wrapping an arm around John’s waist. “Go back to sleep.” 

*** 

Mycroft had arranged two funerals. One, early morning, empty caskets, low turnout, through MI6 with the family’s fake names. The other, theirs, the one for family and friends. 

Everyone had made it in, mostly last minute, shooting of “we made it” texts to Lizzie and getting replies with the plans for a family dinner afterward with a request to please, please attend. 

The funeral was lovely, beautifully arranged and moving. It was full of people who had truly cared for these people and the outpouring of support for the remaining family was overwhelming. Mummy Holmes had not stopped crying once it began and she had excused her and her husband immediately following the ceremony. 

The Campbells were buried of a rare, sunny day that left people blinking at the sun and wondering how it could shine on a day like today.


	5. Curiouser and Curiouser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow you guys. Talk about a hiatus. I'm sooo Sorry . I've been stupid busy, but I'm back!! Thanks for sticking it out for me.

Mycroft was not handling things well. He had been fine while there were arrangements to be made, things to be done. But his grief was catching up with him and Greg was worried. He watched Mycroft pace anxiously as they waited for the others to arrive. 

“Myc,” he said softly. 

Mycroft stopped mid-stride and looked at him. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” Greg said, trying to calm him. 

Mycroft stiffened. “Fine?” he practically growled. “Nothing is fine, Gregory” 

Sherlock and John entered the room at that moment. John shot Greg a sympathetic look. 

“Nothing is going to be fine,” Mycroft continued. “Lyssa’s gone!” there was a touch of hysteria in his voice. 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said quietly. 

Mycroft slammed his way out of the room. 

“Right,” Sherlock said, nodding, “why don’t we move this to my place?” he offered in an uncharacteristically charitable move. 

Greg looked at him gratefully. “Could we?” 

John smiled at Sherlock. 

“I’ll let Lizzie know. She can re-direct everyone there.” Sherlock said, leaving the room. 

John looked at Greg. “You alright, mate?” he asked. 

“He’s not taking this well. I just hope that everything turns out alright in the end.” Greg said, running a tired hand over his face. 

“He’ll get through it,” John said, placing a comforting hand on Greg’s shoulder. “He just needs some time to himself.” 

Greg nodded. “I’ll just tell him where we’re going then I’ll be along.” He said. “And John, thanks.” 

John smiled and left the room. 

*** 

“Does that mean it’s right near us?” Dean asked, staring at his phone. 

Sam re-routed the cab driver. “It’s right above us,” he explained. 

They piled out of the car at the same time as Lizzie climbed out of her own cab. 

“Guess we’re in the right place,” Dean said with a grin. 

Lizzie turned and laughed as two men and another woman climbed out of the car behind her. 

“Charlie?” Cas asked. 

“Hey guys,” Charlie said, grinning at them, “Sorry I ditched earlier, I’m staying with Quint and James so I caught a ride with them.” 

“Come on,” Lizzie said, “Let’s get inside. We can figure out who knows who and how where there’s food.” 

“How do you know there’s food?” James asked. 

“Haven’t you been living with my brother for a few days? There’s usually not food,” Quint teased. 

“I cook,” Lizzie laughed, “But really, where there’s Stiles, there’s food. He’s like a force of nature.” 

“And it’s good too,” Dean said, a dreamy look on his face. 

Lizzie smiled and headed inside, the others trailed behind her. 

*** 

John had sent Sherlock to clean up his mess in the kitchen. Admittedly, it was in better shape than usual. It had seen more use as an actual kitchen in the past few days than it had in the years that John had lived there. Lizzie was a surprisingly good cook and it turned out that she enjoyed it. 

Sherlock was still clearing the chemistry set away as people started to arrive. Greg had been watching in amusement. 

“He’s actually cleaning?” Quint asked teasingly, “Not just blowing it up and hoping the heat flash killed any bacteria?” 

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his brother. 

“Actual five year old, Sherlock Holmes,” Lizzie teased. “Stiles texted to say they’ll be another few minutes. Apparently, he doubts the contents of our kitchen and will be bringing his own supplies.” She hugged John and Greg before moving to help Sherlock clear out the kitchen. 

“What do you think he’ll make?” Dean asked. 

“Probably cookies. He’s good at cookies. Considering the size of the kitchen and the number of mouths, he’ll probably let us do take away for dinner.” Lizzie replied. 

Another group of people entered the flat. 

“Even though it takes a village, we decided that Derek and Isaac could handle Stiles on their own,” Tom said as he pulled Lizzie into a hug. 

Lizzie laughed, “More like you didn’t want to deal with Stiles and all the new and exciting things he could find at a grocery in another country.” She said. 

“Should we wait for Stiles or go ahead and do introductions?” Lydia asked. 

“Let’s go ahead, Stiles knows almost everyone anyway.” Lizzie said. 

Sherlock returned from taking the trash out, “I didn’t know we could even fit this many people into the flat.” He said. 

“Please, we had more in here when we did that drugs bust,” Greg said. 

“That sounds like a good story,” Erica grinned. 

“Meh,” Lizzie said with a shrug, “though it is the night that Sherlock and John met.” 

“Ok, seriously, Intro’s before you start telling stories. This will get confusing really fast,” Danny said, rolling his eyes. 

“Right,” Lizzie said, “This is John…” 

*** 

Despite the odds, everyone was getting along nicely. Tom and Greg had struck up conversation easily, comparing police work between the two countries which had fascinated the whole room until they started getting too specific. Stiles had drifted off to the kitchen with Cas and Allison to bake cookies and the rest of the group splintered into smaller conversations. It was a dull roar, and they almost all missed the doorbell ringing. 

*** 

Lestrade had taken a personal day. Which had been fine, until they were called just before eight about a double homicide. Looking around the scene, Sally knew that they needed Lestrade on this one. 

“I’m calling Lestrade,” she said to the officers near her in exasperation. They looked at her gratefully. They all knew they needed him but no one wanted to interrupt him on his day off. 

She stepped away and dialed. Lestrade actually answered. She hoped that was good. 

“Donovan. What is it?” He asked. 

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but there’s a double homicide and we’re going to need you,” she said. 

Lestrade sighed. He spoke with someone in the room he was in for a moment, low and away from the phone and Sally couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Alright,” He said back into the phone, “Bring me the details. I’m at Baker Street.” 

Sally rolled her eyes. “I’ll be there shortly, sir.” 

*** 

Sally Donovan rang the bell at 221 Baker Street. No answer. Stepping back away from the building, she could see the lights on upstairs. She wasn’t about to just walk right in like Lestrade did, but at least she knew someone was there. She rang again. 

The door opened. An man was standing in the doorway. He was tall with piercing light colored eyes and dark hair. He was gorgeous but wholly unfamiliar. Sally glanced back at the door to confirm she was in the right place. 

“Hi,” she managed to croak out despite her surprise. “I’m looking for Lestrade?” Sally wasn’t sure why it came out as a question. 

“Yeah, he’s upstairs,” the guy said. 

He was American, Sally noted. 

“I’m Sally Donovan, I work with Lestrade.” She said. 

“He told us you were coming,” the guy said, turning to lead her inside. “Derek, by the way,” he said over his shoulder. 

“Nice to meet you, Derek,” Sally said, following him up the stairs. 

As they entered the flat, Sally froze in shock. The place was startlingly clean and packed full of people. Looking around the room, she tried to locate Lestrade. John was in his usual seat, deep in conversation with a blond man who looked slightly older than John. Perched on the armrest of the blond’s chair was a man who looked so much like Sherlock that Sally did a double take. The glasses gave it away, but she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that she was looking at Sherlock’s doppelganger. He was chatting with a young man and a woman with fiery red hair. 

Sally resumed her search for Lestrade. She saw that the man she had followed up was now sitting on the couch with a group of what looked to be teenagers and a couple of guys that she would guess were in their early thirties. 

Standing by the fireplace were two girls deep in conversation. One was a tiny redhead and the other seemed vaguely familiar. 

Just then Sherlock walked into the room from the kitchen. He handed John a mug of tea and turned to face Sally. 

“Donovan,” he said, “Lestrade said you were coming.” 

“Yeah, where is he?” she asked. 

“Kitchen,” John said, smiling at her. 

Sally stepped into the kitchen, which was also shockingly clean. There were two teenagers, a girl and a guy, who seemed to be mixing something up and a dark haired man who was pulling something out of the oven. 

“Sally,” Lestrade said, drawing her attention away from the baking trio. 

He stood with a man who looked about his age, though less grey, and an extremely tall man. 

“Sir,” she said. “Have I interrupted something?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock said, stepping into the kitchen. “But you wouldn’t have if it wasn’t something important.” 

She shot him a mistrusting look. He seemed more subdued than usual. 

“It’s a murder, isn’t it?” said the young guy by the stove. “It’s totally fine. None of us are queasy.” 

Sally shot a look at Lestrade who gave her a nod that practically screamed go on. 

“It’s a triple homicide, sir,” She said. As Sally had described the scene, the flat became silent and everyone gathered around to hear the details. They had found one body by near the door, with multiple wounds that could have led to death, one inside some sort of satanic looking symbol also with multiple wounds that could have led to death, and one was just outside of the symbol with a slit throat. 

*** 

Dean and Lizzie shared a look. That sounded very close to what they had heard from Quint. 

Lestrade caught the look between the two of them and ushered Sally off. 

“Text me the address and we’ll be right behind you,” he said, and Sally left. Turning back to the group, he sighed heavily and asked, “What do you know?” 

“It sounds like some cases I sent to Dean about a month ago,” Quint said. 

“That’s what I was thinking,” Dean said, “Except for the third body.” 

“What is it you do, again?” Lestrade asked. 

“A type of police work,” Dean said, hedging. 

“They hunt supernatural creatures,” Quint said, rolling his eyes. “I’m MI6.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell people that,” Scott said. 

“We’re all family here,” Lizzie shrugged. “Quint being MI6 is less of a surprise than the supernatural bit, I’m sure. Look, Greg, we can have it out and explain things when we get back, but we really should be following Sally.” 

“Supernatural creatures,” Greg said, shaking his head slowly. “Just when I thought things had reached the weirdest they could.” 

He shook himself. “Right, who’s coming?” 

Hands shot up. 

“We can’t take everyone,” Lizzie said with a snort. 

“Who then?” Derek asked. 

“Greg, obviously. Sherlock. John. Dean, Sam. Me.” Lizzie said. “I think that’s good.” 

“I’m going with you,” Derek said, pulling her out of the room when she started to protest. 

“Sally is going to flip,” Lizzie said as she came back in, a huge, wolf of a dog beside her. “Ready?” she asked, pulling her coat on. 

Greg considered her for a moment before deciding he would rather just ask later. He grabbed his coat and headed out of the flat, the others trailing behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> PS There will be bonus references to things outside of these fandoms, virtual cookie for those of you who pick up on them. :)


End file.
